The Things We Do

It was cold; so, so cold. You know, the type of cold where your breath forms a cloud with each breath you take and your blood seems to run cold, your tears freeze on your cheeks, and you go completely numb. Yes, that's exactly how frigid it was there. The wind howled through the tiny cracks in the corner of the wooden church and it rattled against the panes. We could feel the cold right through our fur coats and our woolen hats, right through to our very bones. The entire parish was forced to huddle close together in search for non-existent warmth.

I could hear coughs scattered throughout the quiet hall, sniffling, an occasional choked sob, and the Father's deep soprano voice echoing from the pulpit. The rest of my senses were muffled by exhaustion; emotional exhaustion and physical. It had been a long week, a long month, and a long year. The year and a half that proceeded this day had seemed like an eternity of Hell. This is what that had all come to, another day in church, another day at a funeral that should have never happened.

The Father did a quick prayer in Latin. I always wondered why they use Latin in church, no one but the wealthy know anything about it. So everyone in the church just stood there in silence pretending that they understood what the Father was saying. But we only picked up on three words. The first was Deus, God. The second was Mors, Death. The last was Amen, our signal to repeat. Praise the Lord.

Suddenly the crying grew louder and I looked up not really seeing much, just the blurred outline of men carrying what I knew to be a coffin down the aisle. They were all in uniform, dressed to perfection and the coffin was covered with the American flag. I wasn't aware of my own wails joining that of the people around me. No, I didn't realize that I was crying until my mother-in-law hugged me and I buried my face into her shoulder.

"Sh, Ssh, my love. Everything is going to be alright, we're going to be alright, you're going to be alright." I became aware of her small gloved hand rubbing my back sympathetically. "Think of it this way, Adam is in a better place now. He is with God."

I nodded, what else was I supposed to do? What could I say? I was barely able to speak, my tongue felt swollen so I just nodded and I wrapped my arms around the frail old woman and hugged her back. After all, I wasn't the only person who was affected by Adam's death. This small woman, the mother of my deceased husband had lost so much and here she was trying to comfort me. It just showed how self-less she was and I showed her that I hadn't lost the one thing that she always said made me different from every other girl in New York. My willingness to be another person's crying shoulder.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," my mother in law whispered into my ear.

"Blessed be the name of the Lord," I responded as I released her and wiped away my tears. It was time to pull myself together; it was time for me to be strong. That was what Adam told me to be before he left for Europe. Be strong for his mother, for him. And I promised him that I would and that is exactly what I did.



Tamar sat with her two older brothers, her younger sister, and her father in the kitchen. Her father, Jacob Grace, sat with his head bowed, his eyes closed, his wide, calloused hands clasped on the table, and a solemn expression on his usually cheerful face. Her brother, Matthew, leaned against the counter staring blankly at the radio set to his right. Luke leaned against the wall tossing a worn baseball into the air and caught it again before repeating the process. Magdalene’s honey brown eyes were large and watery, the tip of her nose red, and her lips trembling. All five Graces were silent.

“It is official. On this day, April 6, 1917, President Wilson has announced that the United States will in fact join the Allies in their fight against the Central Powers. I repeat, the United States has declared war on Germany.”

The radio reception fuzzed a bit but the announcer was barely audible anyway. A roar of approval swept through the streets of not only Washington D.C. where he was speaking from, but on the street outside their kitchen window.

Jacob sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Matthew,” he said as another broadcaster came on, gleefully sharing the news for any who missed it earlier, “shut it off.”

The triumphant smile that had plastered itself onto Matthew’s face turned into a frown as he complied. “Aren’t you happy, Papa?” Jacob shook his head. “You should be, we’re finally going to give these Huns what they deserve. A passage back to Hell. You heard what they did, what they’ve been doing!”

“I can understand why people would want to fight them but there are a lot more people who’ll die in this war.”

“They’ll be dying for a good cause,” Matthew stated, his eyes full of something that Tamar could only later describe as fierce pride and justice. “Freedom.”

The next month Matthew enlisted in the United States Army. He wasn’t there when Tamar married Adam, five months later, but he did send a letter to her with his blessings. He returned before her letter could reach him in France, only he wasn’t triumphant as Tamar wished he’d been. The letter was later returned to her unopened.